


Forever and Ever You'll Be In My Heart

by buttsbeyondbutts



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - My Best Friend's Wedding (1997) Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Constipation, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Weddings, benverly - Freeform, stanpatlon if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsbeyondbutts/pseuds/buttsbeyondbutts
Summary: “You’re going to My Best Friend’s Wedding this poor guy? You know Julia Roberts is the villain of the piece.”“First of all, how dare you assume I’ve seen My Best Friend’s Wedding?”  Richie undid the green bow tie and tossed it in the reject pile. “Second of all, Jules was an anti-hero, a flawed yet ultimately worthy protagonist. Dylan McDermott was the villain.”“I don’t think that-”“He made that bullshit If-we’re-both-single-at-twenty-eight pact, like twenty-nine is the retirement of all sexuality.” Richie had come out last year, at thirty-five, “Cameron Diaz is twenty in that movie. Twenty! She wants to be an architect! He wants her to quit school, probably because he thinks her ovaries are gonna dry up before she can drink. Cameron’s basically giving up her whole future for a leather-faced sportswriter who’d turn down a job with the fuckin’ white socks. And then he has the gall to flirt with J-Rob, constantly, before his wedding! Cameron deserved better. So does Eddie.”“Richie, you are setting yourself up for the worst possible heartache. Do not go to this wedding.”Richie smiled, taking his ex-wife’s hand, “I have to. I’m a groomsman.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 154





	Forever and Ever You'll Be In My Heart

“You’re going to _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ this poor guy?” Sandy frowned over her drink, watching Richie fiddle with his tie. “You know Julia Roberts is the villain of the piece.”

“First of all, how dare you assume I’ve seen My Best Friend’s Wedding.” Richie undid the green bow tie and tossed it in the reject pile. “Second of all, Jules was an anti-hero, a flawed yet ultimately worthy protagonist. Dylan McDermott was the villain.”

“I don’t think that-”

“He made that bullshit If-we’re-both-single-at-twenty-eight pact, like twenty-nine is the retirement of all sexuality.” Richie had come out last year, at thirty-five, “Cameron Diaz is twenty in that movie. She wants to be an architect! He wants her to quit school, probably because he thinks her ovaries are gonna dry up before she can drink. Cameron’s basically giving up her whole future for a leather faced sportswriter who’d turn down a job with the fuckin’ white socks. And then he has the gall to flirt with J-Rob, constantly, before his wedding! Cameron deserved better. So does Eddie.”

“And better is you-”

“I’m better than Myra anyway.” Richie glared at his reflection. Bow ties made him feel like a waiter, but the long ones just looked like pointed flaccid dicks.

“His girlfriend of a year.” Sandy took another sip of wine.

“Carbon copy of his mother,” Richie sighed. “I love the guy but Eddie’s got Mommy issues all the way to the moon and back.”

Sandy sighed. She pulled him away from the mirror making him look at her. “Richie, you are setting yourself up for the worst possible heartache. Do not go to this wedding.”

Richie smiled, taking his ex-wife’s hand, “I have to. I’m a groomsman.”

“You’re going so you can seduce the groom!”

“I’m not going to seduce the groom!” Richie scoffed, turning back to the mirror. “I’m just going to show up, be my usual charming self,” Sandy snorted. “outshine the bride in every possible way and tell him how I feel.” Richie pushed his hair out of his face. “If Eddie happens to come to terms with his sexuality, realizes his fiancé’s a harpy, and runs away with me, so much the better.”

Sandy sighed, throwing up her hands. “Okay, but don’t expect me to be your lesbian Rupert Everett.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Richie smiled, “Although you do have the same hair.”

Sandy rolled her eyes. She hugged him tightly. “I hope you get what you need, Richie.”

“Thanks, Sandy.” He hugged her back, briefly sincere.

Sandy clicked her tongue as she pulled away. “Maybe lose the tie? I hear guys like it when you show some skin.”

* * *

Eddie didn’t mind the church itself. The chapel was actually very beautiful, all stained glass and high ceilings with white polished marble. When Eddie’s mother died, they held services in the dingy grey box of Derry United Methodist. Derry United Methodist was nothing, but folding chairs and a huge black cross suspended over a huge black box that contained the earthly remains of Sonia Kaspbrak.

Our Lady of Serenity was an important part of Myra’s family history. Her parents, and paternal grandparents, and great paternal grandparents had all been married there, going way back to the first parishioners in 17-something or other. Her father was close to the Reverend, which allowed them to book the chapel last minute, at an impressive discount.

Eddie knew because Myra had explained it to everyone who’d made even a passing remark about the structure. She was explaining it to Stan right now, ten minutes after the initial observation. Eddie wasn’t listening. He was staring up at the ceiling, wondering if anyone had dusted it since 17-something or other.

“Hi!” Bev’s voice interrupted his anxious inner monologue. Her heel clacked on the marble as she pulled Ben along with her. “Are we late? Myra, I’m so sorry. Traffic was terrible.”

“It’s fine,” Myra said in a clipped voice. “You’re not in the wedding party so you didn’t really have to come.”

Eddie sighed. “Please don’t tell me you forgot Richie, Bev. You’re the only one who can wrangle him.”

“Hello to you too.” She smiled. “Yes, I brought Richie.”

“So what? He got distracted between here and the car?”

“Would you be surprised?” Stan asked. Bev snuck passed him to hug Patty.

“No.” Eddie rubbed his temples. “Hi, Ben. Hi, Bev.”

“Hey, Eddie. Hi, Myra.” Ben clapped his shoulder. “Richie’s right behind us.”

“I said you should put him on a leash when you picked up,” Stan said, hugging Ben.

“Stanley, you incorrigible flirt.” Richie’s voice echoed like no one else’s as he slipped into the chapel. “Not in front of your wife!”

Eddie huffed, suddenly out of breath. Richie strode forward, thick brown curls bouncing along the way. For the first time Eddie could remember, he looked like an actual grown up in a dark green buttondown, open at the neck, and well-tailored slacks. His grin was the same, a harbinger of doom.

“You’re late, Trashmouth.” He said, awkwardly flapping his arm before suppressing the instinct to hug. He didn’t need to hear any passive-aggressive comments about how physical and loud his friends were.

“Ben and Bev aren’t late. I got here thirty seconds after them.” Richie said. He gripped Eddie’s hand and shook it. Suddenly, Eddie felt dizzy, unable to struggle as Richie pulled him into his arms. God, it’d been forever since he got a really good Richie hug. The last had come just after his mother’s funeral.

Beside him, Myra coughed. More dust from the ceiling.

Eddie pushed himself back, awkwardly smiling. “Yeah, Richie, you’re thirty seconds late.”

Richie’s eyebrows shot up to his bangs. “Myra! You look incredible! Congratulations.”

“Well,” she answered, not bothering to match his fake enthusiasm. “We should get started.”

Eddie took his places up at the altar, with Ben, Bev, and Patty serving as the audience. He watched Myra head to the narthex with her Maid of Honor, a friend from college who was either Sarah or Sandra and two cousin bridesmaids, both “vicious sluts” according to Eddie’s fiancé. Bill, Stan and Richie followed behind, casually chatting and laughing with each other. The reflection stained glass caught Richie’s face as he bent to help the flower girl pick up her basket, bathing him in pink and yellow. Eddie blinked, awkwardly patting himself down for the inhaler he left at the hotel.

“Alright,” Reverend Albright intoned next to him. “Mrs. King will play the opening chords, so you know when to come in. Mr. Uris, Tammy, you’re first.”

Mrs. King played her opening chords as Stan and “Vicious Slut” Number 1 started their walk. Eddie honestly meant to learn their names but they seemed insistent on reclaiming Vicious Slut as a positive. Myra had explained at some point why she’d chosen women she actively disliked to be part of her big day but Eddie had forgotten that along with their names. Stan wore the same glazed look of indifference as he guided her down the aisle. It disappeared into a genuine smile as his wife snapped a picture on her phone.

“Remember, there will be no photographs at the actual ceremony,” Reverend Albright said as Patty and Bev giggled. “Richard and Missy, you may proceed.”

Eddie’s throat had gone suddenly dry. Vicious Slut Number 2 seemed to have earned her nickname. She was practical draping herself over him, her airhead resting on his broad shoulder. For once, Richie wasn’t flirting back. He just stared down at Eddie with those big brown eyes.

 _Did he get new glasses?_ There wasn’t anything really different about him, besides a slightly more appropriate outfit for the occasion. Eddie had seen him smile like that a thousand times. He’d practically memorized that smile, those eyes, that hair that was never quite neat. He was the same Richie that hogged the hammock and spouted “your mom” jokes like they were greetings, but somehow, he looked entirely different.

“You okay, Eddie?” Stan leaned over, barely moving his mouth, as he took his place beside him.

“I’m fine,” Eddie said. Richie was halfway down the aisle as Bill and what’s-her-name started their march. Vicious Slut 2 whispered something in his ear, making him blush slightly. Eddie swallowed, uncomfortably angry. Richie had come out of the closet almost a year ago. What kind of self-respecting slut wasted her time on a gay guy, in this the age of IMDB?

It didn’t stop him though. Only once they’d parted at the altar, with the vicious slut taking her place on the Bride’s side, did Richie slow his pace. His eyes traveled over Eddie in a long appreciative sweep. “Lookin’ good, Eds.”

Eddie did not know what to do with that. He never knew what to do when Richie’s voice went deep and sincere like that. He could barely process the three words before Richie took his place beside Stan.

The Chapel suddenly grew uncomfortably warm with Richie standing so close. Eddie suddenly remember that there would be over two hundred people in those pews in forty-eight hours. Two hundred mostly strangers staring at him for the better part of an hour while the fire hazard candles turned this place into an oven.

Eddie had wanted a small wedding, goddamn it. Thirty people max, but Myra had overruled him. The church was important to her, and thirty people in a chapel that size would have looked ridiculous. Besides, her father was paying for everything and he had his own guests. Plus, they didn’t want to insult anyone by leaving them out. Plus, there were plus ones to consider and you really couldn’t get a decent caterer for less than one hundred.

“And now the Bride.” Eddie blinked. He’d missed the flower girl and ring bearer, and now he was about to miss Myra. She did look nice, in the formal type of dress she favored when they went to church on Easter or Christmas. It was a pale blue. She’d been very insistent that Eddie could not see her in the white wedding dress until the actual ceremony. In fact, tonight would be the last time Eddie saw her at all until the actual ceremony. The tradition was important to her, and Eddie hadn’t argued.

In fact, Eddie had only really argued about the people standing next to him. Stan, Bill and Richie were nonnegotiable. With his mother gone, The Losers were the only family he had left. Of course, he’d learned not to say that to Myra. She would cry and insist that she was his family, unwilling or unable to grasp that it wasn’t mutually exclusive. After a half hour of arguing, she agreed that it was only fair for Eddie to have two groomsmen, if only to match the bridesmaids. She’d accepted Bill easily enough. Apparently, Bill’s main appeal was his height, not the fact that he was one of Eddie’s oldest friends.

Stan and Richie had been a fight. A flat out, honest to God, fight that ended with Eddie standing up and leaving the apartment. He answered his phone two hours later with an ultimatum. _“If Stan and Richie aren’t in the wedding party, neither am I.”_

She had relented and apologized sincerely. Now she stood in front of him, his future wife in her Easter best. Guiltily, Eddie forced himself to pay attention.

“After the homily, you’ll state your intentions, to God and each other. Then Martin will present the rings. Then we will offer the eucharist for all those willing to receive it.” Albright cleared his throat. “Sanctified by God, the bride and groom will exchange a kiss.”

On the other side of Stan, Richie coughed, making the hair on Eddie’s neck stand on end.

“Then the Sanctus, then the Lord’s prayer, then-“ Eddie zoned out. He should have argued more about the service. At his mother’s church, you stood up three times for a minute of singing and you were eating pancakes within an hour. His knees were going to give out with all the kneeling and standing and kneeling it took to get married.

_This is just the rehearsal too. How the hell am I supposed to get through all this with the speeches and everything?_

It’d be different on Saturday. It would feel real on Saturday, with people in the pews and Myra in her dress. Things like that were always easier once he actually started doing them. Once it was actually his wedding, the pit of anxiety in Eddie’s stomach would disappear and he wouldn’t focus on the dust on the ceiling or the throng of WASPS staring at him or… whatever was going on with Richie.

_It’ll be different on Saturday._

* * *

“We went with baby’s breath and lilac, absolutely stunning,” Myra said, to nobody in particular. She sat with her hand on Eddie’s arm, not holding his hand, just holding him down. “There’s a gorgeous little park just down the street from the church, where we’re having our reception. We’re covering the entire pavilion in flowers. Of course, the florist tried to give us the runaround- like they don’t already have them in stock- but my father spoke to them and settled everything. It’s all in baby blue, it’s going to look darling.”

“That’s great,” Bev said. She had said “That’s great” three times since Myra started talking, and nothing else.

“Aren’t lilacs uh… lilac?” Ben asked. Richie could have kicked him.

_Don’t engage, Haystack! Never engage!_

“They can be blue.” Myra snapped. “Lilacs and baby’s breath both come in blue! Blue Lilacs symbolize peace and tranquility which is what I’d like on my wedding day if that’s alright.”

“Yes, completely.” Ben looked ready to hide under the table. “I’m sure they’ll be beautiful.”

“They will be.”

“Myra,” Eddie sighed.

“What?”

“Baby, can you grab me another beer?” Bev flashed a brilliant smile to her fiancé.

“Absolutely,” Ben shot up like a rocket. “Anyone else? Another round?”

“Alcohol makes you bloated.” Myra’s smile never reached her eyes.

 _Honey, you passed bloated about sixty pounds ago,_ Richie thought. Sandy would have yelled at him for that. No excuse for body shaming, even if the body in question came with the personality of black licorice. He contented himself with an order of whiskey. The cider he started with would not last him through the evening.

“Nothing for me,” Eddie sounded like he was a million years old. “Thanks, Ben.”

“Whiskey and beer,” Ben nodded, disappearing back to the bar.

“He’s nice,” Myra said like nothing weird had just happened.

“Yeah,” Bev’s smile turned soft as she glanced after Ben.

“You were married before, weren’t you?”

The smile disappeared. Richie slapped his open palms down on the table, making the empty bottles shake.

“Eddie!” He said. “How’s the garage?”

Eddie blinked at him, “What?”

“The garage?” Richie repeated. “You know that place you work? With the cars and stuff? Vroom vroom?”

“Oh. It’s fine,” Eddie lifted the glass in front of him, only to realize it was empty and set it down again. “I assume. I quit so-”

“You quit the garage?” Richie repeated. Eddie nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Eddie took a job with my father’s company,” Myra smiled. Her grip tightened slightly on his arm. “He’s a risk analyst now. Isn’t that right, honey?”

“Wow,” Bev’s voice was soft, tight in a way that foretold a coming storm. Under the table, Richie took her hand and squeezed. She let out a quick exhale. “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” _What would Julia Roberts do?_ “Congrats, Eds! ‘Bout time for a change. How long were you a mechanic, ten- fifteen years?”

“Twenty.” Eddie corrected softly.

“Right, yeah,” Richie toyed with his empty bottle. “You used to repair the tractors with Mr. Hanlon in high school. Your mom almost lost her mind when she found out.”

Eddie smiled at the memory. “She thought I was gonna get crushed.” He looked up at Richie through long black eyelashes, “You helped me write up that PowerPoint to convince her when I wanted to go to Auto School.”

Richie chuckled. He still had a draft sitting on his hard drive. “Free oil change, the fastest way to your mom’s heart. Special lady.”

“The money’s better in insurance,” Myra said, “less dirt too.”

“Sure,” Richie nodded, unable to totally remove the venom from his voice. “Nice, sterile environment. Just your speed, Eds. What’s a risk analyst do? Sit behind a desk all day, calculating exactly how many things can go wrong in any given situation? Thank God we found a way to monetize anxiety!”

Eddie glared at him, “Beep beep, Richie.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender as Ben returned with the drinks. “Sorry, dude. I’m happy for you! Really!”

He raised his whiskey so quickly it spilled onto his fingers. “To Eddie and Myra. New job, new family, new life! Beautiful thing!”

Bev and Ben dutifully raised their bottles, “Eddie and Myra.”

Richie drained his glass. He wanted four more but that would have made his breaking heart even more obvious. Eddie was still glaring at him. _He’s so fucking hot when he’s pissed at me._ Richie wiped his lips off with his wrist.

“So,” Ben said, awkward in the silence. “What are the honeymoon plans?”

“We’re taking a cruise,” Myra said as Richie contemplated suicide. He missed the list of destinations as he stood up, muttering something about a bathroom. He felt like he was going to vomit, and not because of the whiskey.

_Sandy was right. Julia Roberts is a bitch._

He could just picture Eddie on a cruise, sitting in a dark cabin while Myra yelled at the concierge, getting sick from the undercooked shrimp before returning to be buried alive in an office. New family, new job, _new friends because Richie can’t stand to watch me marry my mother._

He did vomit then, nothing but bile, cider, and a few extraneous French fries. Luckily, the restaurant was way too fancy, and a nameless bathroom man handed him a mint.

Eddie, in all his irritated glory, was waiting outside. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Richie wiped his mouth again.

“Good. What the fuck was that?”

“The fuck was what?” God, it was good to hear him swear again.

“That rant masquerading as a toast.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about **,”** Richie said.

“I know you guys don’t like Myra-”

“Who says I don’t like her?”

Eddie was doing that thing where he held his hand up in front of his face like he was about to karate chop some blocks in half.

“But at least the others make a damn effort.” He pushed his hair out of his face, “You show up late, looking like-”

“Like what?” Eddie’s handsome face had gone bright red. He turned his head, glaring down the short corridor that lead to the main dining room. Suddenly, Richie didn’t feel sick at all. “Eddie?”

He turned back, biting his lip. “Look just… cool it with the sarcasm. Please? It’s my wedding.”

“Yeah, okay,” No way he could argue with those beautiful eyes. “Sorry.”

Eddie huffed, smiling softly. He looked incredible in the soft bar lighting. Richie swallowed the last of the mint.

“Can I ask you something, Eds?”

“Sure,” Eddie ran his fingers through his hair. “What’s up?”

 _Do you wanna run away with me? Or make out? Or let me blow you in the men’s room?_ The corridor was ridiculously tight. Eddie stood right in front of him. It would take nothing to pull him even closer, to feel his heat course under his skin, and press their lips together.

Except Richie was a coward. “Why’d you propose?”

Eddie shrugged, suddenly unwilling to meet his eyes. “It felt like the next step, y’know? I’m thirty-five.”

“I’m thirty-five.”

“You’re different.”

“Why?” Richie itched to get closer. They were so close already. Eddie could probably hear his heart pounding away. “Because of the gay thing?”

“No!” Eddie said, finally looking him in the eye. “Richie, I don’t-” he huffed, letting the thought fade away without completion. “You’re you. You’ve always been okay on your own. You walk into a room and everyone looks. It’s like a magnet. You could get anybody in here to come home with you. I can’t do that. I’d be scared to try.”

“Eds-“ he did move closer then, sliding his palm into the crook of his neck. “That’s not true. You’re braver than you think.”

Eddie shook his head. He opened his mouth, breathing Richie’s name like a prayer.

“There you are!” It was like an avalanche. That goddamn yodel unleashed a mountain of emotional snow that had Eddie pulling back so fast he ran into the wall. Before Richie could say a word, she was upon them, snatching him away. “It’s getting late and you have to wake up early for your little boys’ trip tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Eddie said. It was roughly 11:30, a good twelve hours before the Bachelor party was meant to begin. “Let me say goodbye.”

Richie thought he might choke. He had a sudden vision of Eddie, thirteen years old and clutching his broken arm while his mother bundled him into the car. He cast one helpless look at the losers before staring straight ahead in dead-eyed acceptance of his fate. “Eddie-”

“Thanks for coming out, Rich.” Back in the present, Eddie’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Myra led him away, babbling something about the valet having their car ready. Richie slumped back against the wall and watched them go. Eddie didn’t even glance over his shoulder.

He should have kissed him. He should have kissed him there in the bathroom corridor. He should have kissed him in the church that morning when their eyes met at the altar. Richie should have kissed Eddie when they were thirteen, that awful day when Richie held his face and screamed his name, desperate for Eddie to look at anything other than his broken arm. He should have kissed him that day, and every day afterward.

Julia’s fatal flaw in _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ was timing. She fucked everything up not because she fell over every time she should have told a joke, not because she wrote a fake email to torpedo Mahmoud Dulmoney’s career, or even because she tried to sabotage his wedding, but because she waited for twenty goddamn to realize she wanted him.

Richie had a million excuses for the situation. He’d wanted Eddie, always Eddie, only Eddie, since they were thirteen but there was always a reason not to act. It was the eighties in a small town. Mrs. Kaspbrak hated him. He wasn’t out yet and the industry would eat him alive unless Richie could control the narrative.

It was all bullshit.

Richie Tozier was a coward. He waited over two decades because he was terrified of rejection. Because he’d have faced an army of small-town bigots, overprotective mothers, and Hollywood insiders to be with Eddie, but only if Eddie wanted him too. For twenty-two years, Richie thought the worst thing Eddie could say was no until he announced his engagement to Myra Wallace.

“Richie?” Bev and Ben found him with his head in his hands. She pulled him into a close hug.

“I’m fine,” he muttered into Bev’s hair. “I’m good, I promise.”

“No, you’re not, man.” Ben hugged him tight. “You’re in love with Eddie.”

Richie pulled pack, half-baked excuses falling from his lips. They just looked at him, twin faces of absolute sympathy.

Richie sighed. “Does everyone know?”

Bev nodded. “Everyone but Eddie.”

“We honestly didn’t think you’d show up,” Ben said. “This has to be torture.”

Richie shrugged. “Eddie asked me to come.”

They exchanged a knowing look. Then Bev turned back to him, gray-green eyes bright with passion. “You’re going to tell him, right? You have to tell him!”

“I-”

“He’s in love with you!” Bev snapped, gripping his lapels like they were about to fight. “He’s been in love with you since seventh damn grade! He couldn’t take his eyes off you at the rehearsal-”

“Bev-”

“You have to tell him, Richie!”

“I’m gonna!” He stepped back, landing on the wall with enough force to shake the picture frames. “Eddie’s in love with me?”

“Oh, my fucking-” Bev physically turned away from him, gripping her hair in both hands, “Yes!”

Ben nodded. “Bill said the only time Eddie sounded like himself all week is when was he was talking to you.”

“Bill said that?” So he wasn’t imagining it. There had to be something there if even Bill could see it. Eddie loved him. Richie wasn’t insane. _God Bless Julia Roberts._

“You have to tell him,” Bev repeated. “He won’t listen to us. He’s convinced she’s the only person who’d ever look at him twice.”

“That’s insane.”

“I know.” Bev closed her eyes. “Can we go outside? I really need a smoke.”

They ended up walking back to the hotel, with Bev blowing smoke rings under the streetlight. Ben had his arm around her waist. She leaned on him as they explained how every single loser and loser spouse had attempted to prevent Eddie’s marriage.

“Mike wanted to boycott,” Ben said. “He only agreed to come after Patty said we’d be Eddie’s “escape hatch”.”

“She also vetoed Stan’s kidnapping plan,” Bev said, “apparently nine people on the run from the law is ‘impractical’.”

“It’s not impractical. Audra has a place in England.” Richie said, finishing his own cigarette.

“That’s what Stan said.” Ben chuckled fondly.

“Audra’s on board. That’s plan C.” Bev said. “Plan A is Patty and I get Myra drunk enough at the Bachelorette party that she’ll sleep through the ceremony.”

“So what am I, plan B?” Richie scoffed. There was a joke in there somewhere.

Bev nodded. “We weren’t sure you’d come.” She said in a soft voice. “You didn’t talk to anybody for a week after the announcement.”

 _Yeah, I was trying to drink myself to death that week._ Richie rubbed the back of his neck, staring straight at the ground. _That was my Plan A… for Alcohol._

“Not that anybody blamed you,” Ben said quickly. “I couldn’t even go to Beverly’s wedding.”

Bev turned in his arms, grabbing his shirt to pull him into a soft kiss. “You’ll be at the one that matters.”

Ben kissed her again, lifting her up off the sidewalk. Bev threw her arms around his shoulders, her leg circling around his as the kiss deepened.

Richie cleared his throat. “You know you two literally booked a room in there?” He pointed at the hotel.

“Oh yeah.” Bev was breathless as Ben set her down again. He blushed slightly, but his hands stayed where they were.

Richie went into the hotel.

* * *

Eddie sat in the lobby, staring out the absurd window wall. His phone buzzed in his hand.

 **Myra:** [are you still there?]

[I want you to text when they pick you up.]

Eddie stared at the repeating grey dots, indicating another incoming message. Myra had left for her spa day nearly 20 minutes ago, right after Stan’s customary “on our way” text. He briefly considered putting his phone on airplane mode before dismissing the idea. _Why would you start your married life by avoiding your wife?_ Richie asked in his mind.

Eddie shook his head. Richie would inevitably start shit the minute they saw each other again. Why should Eddie’s brain step on his lines?

Myra buzzed again. [Don’t get drunk. I don’t want you sick at the wedding.]

Eddie wondered if the hotel bar was open, or if he had time to run back up to the minibar.

Another buzz.

 **Mike:** [We’re outside!]

Eddie grabbed his overnight bag and typed a quick, one-handed message to his fiancé. [heading out]

 **Myra:** [No strippers! I know what your friends are like!]

A million retorts, mostly about how half his friends were married or engaged, disappeared as his friends pulled into the parking lot.

“Holy shit!” He laughed, covering his mouth with his wrist. “Is that a fucking minivan?”

“I know, right?!” Richie grinned, leaping out of the sliding door. “Staniel’s gone full soccer Dad overnight!” He wrapped Eddie in a bone-crushing hug, lifting him bodily off the ground. Eddie hugged him back, unable to stop laughing.

“If you can think of a better way to transport five adult men and Richie around this city, I’d love to hear it,” Stan said, stepping out of the driver’s side. He gave Eddie a wry smile. “Happy Bachelor Party, Eddie.”

“Thanks, Stan.” Eddie smiled as Richie let him go. He looked dazed, and more than a little breathless. He was back in his usual graphic t-shirt and jeans, but he looked different, speechless for once.

Eddie shook his head at the errant thought. “You could’ve gotten a driver, you know.”

“We vetoed that. This trip is for Losers Only.”

“Mike!” Eddie grinned. “You made it!”

Mike hugged him, softer than Richie had, patting him twice on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Eddie.”

“You too, man.” He’d honestly wondered if Mike would come. Excluding Richie, Mike disliked Myra the most. He should have never doubted his friends.

Bill and Ben each gave him a hug. “Bev says hi.” Ben said, pulling back.

“Shit,” Eddie’s stomach turned uncomfortably. Myra had insisted that his bachelor party be “boys only”, despite the fact that he’d known Bev most of their lives and was maybe the only Loser that never had a crush on her. Myra wouldn’t hear of it though. _“I’m the only woman you should be concerned about._ “Is she pissed? She knows I’m sorry, right?”

“She knows.” Ben said. “She’s sorry too.”

“For what?”

“This.” Ben caught him in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles into Eddie’s hair.

“Get off!” His grin took over his whole face as he shoved Ben back. “Jesus, Ben!”

“I’m just the messenger!” Ben grinned and the others sniggered.

“Let’s go, guys.” Stan said, “We’re burning daylight.”

“Dad’s mad,” Richie stage whispered as he guided Eddie into the van. Eddie giggled.

He sat in the middle seat, across from Richie, with Mike and Ben in the back and Bill and Stan in front. He would never admit it in front of Richie, but Stan had gotten a nice minivan. It was the kind where you could swivel the middle seats and look at the people in the back.

“Your pocket’s buzzing, dude.” Richie said in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

“Right,” he felt suddenly embarrassed. “I’ll turn it off.”

Myra had texted three times in the two minutes it took them to get in the car.

[Eddie promise me.]

[No strippers. No alcohol.]

[My father didn’t spend a fortune on this wedding for your idiot friends to grope random whores and vomit in my baby’s breath.]

“You okay?” Richie asked.

Eddie looked up. The others were arguing about something, loud and chaotic. Usually Richie was at the center of those things, light shining out of every part of him, but all his attention rested on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine.” Eddie swallowed. “Just let me finish this.”

[No strippers], he promised his fiancé, and turned off the phone.

“Look alive, Trashmouth,” Bill said, handing Richie a small glass of champagne. “We’re doing this right!”

“Pass it back!” Mike called in an exaggerated baritone.

“We’re doing this now and you guys are finishing the bottle, because I will not have open containers in this thing.” Stan snapped. “Yes, Eddie, I’m drinking apple juice, chill.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Eddie took his own glass, “but thank you.”

Bill raised his glass. The others followed suit. “Here’s to Eddie Kaspbrak, in the first of many toasts I’m sure. You’re a great friend and a hell of a loser!”

“Eddie Kaspbrak!” They clinked the plastic together and drank.

“Thanks, Bill.” Eddie said, as the bubbles rose pleasantly to his brain. “All of you, I can’t- I love you guys.”

“Love you too, Eds,” Richie echoed in that strange soft voice. He stared into his glass, fingering the rim, like he wanted to say something else. Then he coughed and banged on the roof with a closed fist. “Let’s go, Stan!”

Stan started the van.

“So,” Eddie cleared his throat over the Clash CD, “are you guys going to tell me the plan?”

“We’re taking you to Vegas,” Stan said, pulling on to the highway.

“Funny,” Eddie said. “You remember I said no strippers, right?”

“You said a lot of things,” Bill shrugged, “It’s hard to keep track.”

“Sex work is work, Eddie.” Mike reminded him as Ben giggled.

“Yeah,” Richie grinned, “Cinnamon’s in a union.”

* * *

Eddie had been drinking steadily since they arrived that afternoon. Nothing major by Tozier standards but enough to get Eddie Kaspbrak drunk. Drunk Eddie was an affectionate little bugger. He’d settled next to Richie about half an hour ago, and straight-up clung to him.

Loving Eddie Kaspbrak was easily the best and most frustrating part of Richie’s life. Ben, Richie’s own heterosexual Rupert Everett who would be receiving a gift basket when all this was over, had promised to provide privacy at some point in the evening. Technically, he had yes to deliver, even if it felt like Richie and Eddie were the only two people on the planet right now. Ben himself waded through the reeds with Bill, trying to locate a turtle they saw three hours ago. Stan and Mike sat on the other side of the fire. Actually, only Mike sat, idly poking the embers with a long stick. Stan, somehow more of a lightweight than Eddie, lay stretched on a log with his head in Mike’s lap.

“We should do this every year,” Eddie said. “Best Bachelor party ever.”

Mike smiled into the fire. “If you guys wanna mess around by a lake once a year, I’m there, but we’re just about out of bachelors. Once Ben goes, it’s just me and Richie.”

Richie took another swig of beer, wishing for something stronger.

“Don’ worry about it,” Stan mumbled. “I’ll just marry Patty again.”

“Oh well,” Mike chuckled. “Problem solved.”

Stan grinned and covered his eyes with his palms. “I wish Patty was here. She’s the best.”

Mike nodded.

“You’ll see her in ten hours, bud,” Richie reminded him. Stan waved him off with a flick of his wrist.

“We lost the turtle,” Bill said, trudging back with Ben who looked like he’d just stepped out of an underwear commercial. A chorus of boos greeted him. “Anything new here?”

“I miss my wife.” Stan moaned as Mike toyed with his curls.

“Is that new?” Bill wrapped a towel around his shoulders.

Mike nodded. “We all miss your wife, Stan.”

“Aren’t you boys the sweetest?” A distinct and feminine voice called through the trees. Patty smiled sweetly at her husband, as she guided an extremely drunk Bev toward the campsite.

“Babylove!” Stan shrieked. He ran with surprising speed and kissed her. Mike was there a second later, picking them both up in an enormous hug.

Patty put her hands on their cheeks, “Hi, boys.”

Bev, who had wiggled free and stumbled to her fiancé the minute they were spotted, giggled and put her head on Ben’s shoulder. Ben smiled. He pushed her hair out of her face. “Did you have fun?”

Bev’s crimson face went solemn. “I had… tequila.” She sniggered again.

“She had a lot of tequila.” Patty confirmed.

Eddie sat up, blinking rapidly. “Are you fucking kidding?” His voice went so high that is squeaked. “She tol’ me- no drinking. No strippers. Over and over and you guys got fucking tequila?!”

“In fairness, Myra only had it in mixed drinks and she only had three.” Patty sat down, sandwiched between Mike and Stan. “Bev was doing shots.”

“’m allowed to do shots, ’m not in the wedding,” Bev said, obviously quoting the bride. “Doesn’t matter what I look like.”

“And you are pretty drunk, Eds,” Richie said, brushing his fingers over soft brown hair. “Not that I don’t support you.”

“Mmm,” Eddie leaned forward, returning with a half-empty bottle of hard cider. He took a swig, then waved it to emphasize his own point. “I didn’t agree to ‘no drinking’. I only agreed to ‘no strippers’.”

Patty raised an eyebrow. “Are we not counting Ben then?”

The party, such as it was, continued on for about an hour. One by one, the losers wandered off into the night. Bill staggered back to the van to fall asleep. Bev dragged a very willing Ben back to the trees to make out. Mike and Stan straight up passed out, cuddled up next to Patty while she played with their hair. Soon, Richie and Eddie were the last ones awake.

Well, Richie was awake. Eddie had gone quiet a few minutes ago. The only signs of life were his steady breath against Richie’s shoulder and the slow thump of his heartbeat. Richie glanced up at the stars. They were so bright, only a couple of hours outside of the city. Richie could have spent the rest of his life on that log.

_You have to tell him, Trashmouth. You have to tell him or you’ll never get a night like this again._

Eddie shifted against him. “Richie?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Richie huffed a half-laugh. “Sorry, Eds.”

“C’mon!” Eddie lurched to his feet. He stumbled forward, narrowly missing the fire as Richie scrambled to redirect him. He grabbed his shoulder, turning him from the flames.

“Where are we going?” No way he was leaving Eddie to his own devices.

“Walk,” Eddie pointed at the lake. The moon was high and almost golden on the dark water. “Gotta clear my head.”

There was a little path around the lake, just visible in the moonlight. Night birds cooed and cawed over the water. A warm summer breeze whispered through the reeds.

_Tell him._

“Eddie?”

“This place is beautiful,” Eddie breathed as he leaned on Richie’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Richie wasn’t looking at the lake, or stars, or anything but the man he loved. His usually immaculate hair stuck up at odd angles where he’d pushed it back through the day. Eddie’s cheeks were still rosy red, half from the booze and half from the hours of swimming. His eyes shone as he turned toward Richie.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” _You look like you again._

“I know this was your idea,” Eddie said. “It’s perfect.”

“Bill found the place,” Richie admitted. “I just remembered how much you liked the quarry when we were kids.”

“Thank you,” Eddie said again, hugging him. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s waist and squeezed. Richie turned in his hold, pulling Eddie closer. He let his face drop into his hair and breathed in.

_Tell him._

Richie’s fingers curled over Eddie’s shoulder, desperately hoping he’d never have to let go. “Eds.”

“What?” Eddie pulled back slightly. His handsome face scrunched into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

_Tell him!_

“I love you.” Eddie opened his mouth but once the words had opened Richie’s flood gates and everything came out in the rush of emotions. “I love you. I’ve loved you for twenty years, but I was too scared and stupid to say anything.” He let out a shuddering breath. “I’m still scared, Eds. And I know this is really awful fucking timing, but I need you to do me a really big favor. Marry me. Choose me. Let me make you happy.”

Eddie stared at him with wide brown eyes. Richie kissed him.

In a second of movement, everything stopped. Everything that wasn’t Eddie’s lips, his skin, his hair, his body pressed into Richie’s, disappeared. His arms lifted. His hands gripped Richie’s shirt, holding tight.

If it had been a movie, the camera would have circled them, and the music would have swelled. They’d pan to reveal Myra, played by Cameron Diaz, gasping as she caught the dramatic moment. Cue chase scene.

Eddie pushed him off. Richie stumbled back, dizzy and out of breath. Eddie stared at him, shaking.

“What the fuck.”

“Eddie-”

“What the fuck, Richie!?” The color had drained from his cheeks. He looked like he was going to throw up. “You can’t just- I’m getting married tomorrow!”

“I know.” Richie thought he might throw up himself. He sat down in the grass, holding his head.

“So why the hell would-“ Eddie shook his head, “Is this a prank or some shit? You’re bored? You think it’s funny to just say shit like that?”

“It’s fucking true!” Richie snarled.

“Then where was it twenty years ago? Fuck, where was it two years ago? Why the hell would you wait until-” He looked at his watch, “Nine hours before my wedding to drop this on me?”

“I’m sorry! I fucked up, but I’m can’t-” He swallowed hard. “I needed to tell you.”

“Fine,” Eddie brushed his hair back and turned to face the lake. “You told me.”

He sounded vaguely calmer. They were quiet for a moment. Eddie stared up at the moon while Richie just stared at Eddie. Richie felt like he was drowning like the air had gone out of the world. He stood, still shaky on his feet, “Eddie?”

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” Eddie repeated. He looked down at the water. “You have to respect that.”

“You don’t have to get married, Eds.” Richie insisted. “You keep saying that- like it’s some immutable fact that you’re getting married.”

“I am.” His voice was soft, almost to the point of breaking.

“How do you feel, Eddie?” He reached out, taking his hand. Eddie turned, staring at him with wide eyes. “I heard you, dude. You’re not pissed at me because I told you right before your wedding. You’re pissed at me because I waited to tell you until right before your wedding.”

“Richie,” his breath hitched and stuttered. Richie stepped closer, taking his other hand.

“Tell me to fuck off, and I’ll fuck off right now,” Richie promised, “but don’t tell me because you’re getting married. Tell me because you don’t want me to stay.”

They fell into quiet again. Eddie’s eyes traveled over his face, inspecting every nook and cranny for deceit. At last, he met Richie’s gaze again. He let go of his hands, only to reach up and grab his shirt. “Eds?”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie whispered, and kissed him hard.

This wasn’t a movie kiss. No Julia Roberts Rom Com could maintain a PG-13 rating with Eddie Kaspbrak as its leading man. He bit into Richie’s lip, hungry and demanding. Hands moved and fingers clenched in his hair, pulling their bodies flush against each other. Eddie climbed him like a fucking tree, strong legs wrapped around his waist.

They had to come up for air eventually. By instinct, Richie had grabbed Eddie’s ass, and _H_ _oly Christ_ what an ass! Richie had been a fan of Eddie’s ass since day one but nothing compared to feeling those round, deceptively small cheeks rest in his palms. Eddie, the face part, huffed, staring into Richie’s eyes. Richie stared back, unable to speak.

Eddie kissed him again, softer this time. He licked at the bites on Richie’s lip and pushed in to lick his tongue, his mouth, his teeth.

Richie stumbled back. He landed hard on his back, unable to suppress the grunt of pain as their teeth knocked together.

Eddie pulled back with a start. His eyes were blown wide, his face bright red. “Shit!” He said, “You okay?”

“’m fine,” he was out of breath and half hard. “Eddie!”

Eddie nodded, hair bouncing with enthusiasm. He kissed Richie again. His hands trailed down his chest, stopping to slip his fingers into his shorts and pull them down. Richie kicked off his shoes as he pulled Eddie’s shorts away.

“Richie,” Eddie sat on top of him, frozen in the moonlight, exposed and beautiful. His fingers traced the edge of his cheek. Richie gripped his slim hips, brushing his thumb over the curve of his thigh.

“Eds,” the nickname came out involuntarily, like breathing, “Eddie, please.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. He wiped his hand on his shirt and pulled it away. Richie shivered violently as he watched Eddie put two fingers in his mouth and coat them with spit, brain short-circuiting at the implications. Eddie hesitated, staring down at him. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Richie nodded furiously. “I’m more than okay. Please, Eddie, fucking- fucking touch me.”

Eddie touched him.

* * *

He had woken up as the sun rose, with ants crawling up his bare ass and Richie Tozier asleep on top of him. Still slightly drunk from the night before, he had brushed his fingers over Richie’s hair and smiled as the larger man snuggled in closer. It should have been uncomfortable, having all that weight spread on top of him. It wasn’t. That had been four hours ago. Now Eddie sat in Reverend Albright’s office with his head in his hands and twenty minutes before his wedding.

Albright’s office was as intimidating as the rest of the church, historic and pristine. They’d added a full-length mirror so that he could prepare in privacy. Not that the mirror did anything to prepare him. It just sat there, reflecting a sick, coward in a too-tight tuxedo with his head in his hands.

Richie had been asleep when Eddie left. He’d groaned a little when Eddie slipped out from under him but settled down quickly. Eddie had dived into the lake, clearing the most obvious filth from his skin until he could get a proper shower. He’d dressed on the shore, shaking out the clothing they’d discarded so carelessly the night before.

His hangover made itself known when he checked his phone. Six missed calls and dozens of text messages sprang to life as the screen illuminated. Myra had basically live-tweeted her bachelorette party, complaining about everything from the quality of her massage to Bev getting drunk and Patty staying sober.

[Is she pregnant? If she doesn’t toast tomorrow, she’s definitely pregnant. She’d better not say anything!]

[I hope you’re having fun tonight because this on read nonsense will NOT fly when we’re married, Eddie.]

The worst came last, as it always did.

[I’m sorry for being so clingy during boy’s night. I just can’t stop thinking something will go wrong. I just want everything to be perfect. I can’t wait to be married!]

[Good night, Eddie Bear. I love you! <3]

Eddie had thrown up into the lake, sick with the knowledge of his betrayal. He’d cheated on his fiancé the night before they got married. He’d been fucking his best friend while she told him she loved him. She’d apologized, something his mother never did. She trusted him and he betrayed her.

The others were asleep when his car arrived. He had an hour and a half in the back of a sleepy twenty something’s Mazda to compose a suitable explanation for his flight. All he could come up with was [See you all at the church!] for the group text.

He texted Richie later, much later.

[Last night was a mistake. I’m sorry. I’m marrying Myra. You don’t have to come.]

There was more to say, more than Eddie could say to make Richie understand. Richie would understand in time. He would understand that they couldn’t-

It had been literally incredible that night. Literally, Eddie had examined the bruises, traced the ghost of Richie’s kiss on his lips and across his skin, and cataloged every piece of evidence before he could believe it.

Two years ago, that night would have been his salvation. If he had waited one more day, not jumped his best friend like an animal, maybe they could have started…

Eddie shook his head again, despising his reflection. Today, two years ago, any day it started, it wouldn’t have worked. It didn’t matter how it began because, at the end of every day, he was Eddie Kaspbrak. Wheezing, neurotic, sick, sensitive, weak Eddie Kaspbrak who was lost without his mother.

Richie wasn’t. They’d come into contact through the accidents of birth and proximity. Richie was bright and wild and everything Eddie wasn’t. Beneath that beautiful bravado lay an unearned doubt. He’d panicked when Eddie got engaged, that was all. He was afraid of losing him as if Eddie would, could ever break from his orbit. He’d mistaken it for love. It was a very Richie thing to do.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. Bill poked his head inside, looking anxious. “Eh-Eddie? Wuh-we got fuh-five minutes.”

“Okay,” his voice was hoarse. Eddie didn’t know how he’d get through his vows. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Eddie,” Bill said again like somebody had just died. “Wuh-we c-can’t find Ruh-Ruh-Richie.”

Eddie turned to face his friend. Bill looked pale but well-kempt, like he’d made an extra effort to hide his hangover. “He didn’t come back with the rest of you?”

“He left after you did.” Bill said. He bit his lip, hesitating. Then he spoke again. “Eh-Eddie. What hap-”

And he definitely didn’t want to deal with that question. “Don’t worry about it.” He cut Bill off. “I’ll see you out there.”

Bill frowned but nodded anyway. “Okay, Eddie.” He closed the door silently.

Eddie wondered how many of them knew. Each of the Losers, in their own careful or clumsy way, had tried to warn Eddie out of his marriage. They asked if he was sure, worried about the similarities between Myra and his mother, and reluctantly dropped the subject when Eddie insisted that he knew what he was doing. Not one of them said; “Don’t get married. Richie’s in love with you.” Would they have told him if they knew?

 _Doesn’t matter._ He stood, adjusting his tie in the mirror. _It’s better this way. They’ll see that._

The door opened as he put his hand on the knob. Eddie skipped back, barely avoiding a blow to the head, as Richie swore.

For a moment, Eddie could only stare. Richie looked awful, liked he’d ran over there. His eyes were red and puffy, hair disheveled, glasses filthy. He’d changed out of the shorts and t-shirt Eddie pulled off at the lake. The white dress shirt was wrinkled, and he’d missed his second buttonhole so every other button was off. He stared at Eddie like he’d just risen from the dead.

“You came.” The words came in one breath, involuntary.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I come?” Richie pushed into Albright’s office, raking his fingers through his hair. “What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie sat down again, hard. He put his head in his hands. “Last night-”

“If you say mistake, Eddie, I swear to God-” he dropped to his knees, pulling Eddie’s hands down and forcing him to meet his eyes. “It was not a mistake! This-” he gestured around the room, “This is a mistake! Last night was the best damn night of my life.”

He looked too sincere. Eddie turned away. He closed his eyes. “We were drunk, Rich.”

“You were sober enough to yell at me,” Richie argued. “You were sober enough to lube your fingers before you put ‘em in my ass! I was sober enough to-”

“Stop!” Eddie snapped. If Richie referenced any of the things he did last night, especially with his tongue, in a church they would probably both burst into flames. Eddie stood, stepping away from him. “Stop, Richie.”

“Why?” They were both standing now. Richie’s hands were fists when Eddie turned to face him again.

“Because this is my fucking wedding!” He snapped. “I’m going to be married in a fucking hour, and you- you have never respected that!”

“Well excuse the fuck out of me,” his voice went acid, “I got the impression this blessed event would be canceled after you stuck your tongue down my throat.”

“It was a mistake.”

“You didn’t fucking trip, Eds!”

“Fuck you!” Eddie brushed his fingers through his hair as if he didn’t have to be at the fucking alter in a few minutes. “It was a mistake because I’m marrying Myra. We’re building a life together.”

“No. She’s absorbing you into her life.” Richie said. “She hates your friends, Eddie. She made you quit the job you’ve loved for twenty damn years. Is there anything in this whole fucking wedding that was your idea?”

 _You were._ Eddie glared and said nothing.

“Did you tell her? About our little whoopsie doodle last night?” He closed the space between them with one long stride. Eddie could feel his breath on his face. It smelled like coffee and pain.

“No.”

“Are you going to?” His voice was soft now, begging. Eddie didn’t answer. He honestly didn’t know.

It was quiet between them. Eddie could hear the faint strains of organ music, barely audible over the sound of his own heart. They were trying to keep the crowd from getting restless. Bill would come looking for him soon. He was officially late to his own wedding.

“You won’t,” Richie said, in a hollow voice. “You’re not going to tell her. Is that- is that really what I am to you, Eds? A mistake? Some dirty little secret you keep from your wife?”

“No,” but the argument died on his lips. Of course, he wouldn’t tell Myra. She’d never forgive him, or she’d forgive him every day for the rest of his life, on the condition that he never speak to Richie again.

“Look,” He was crying now, not enough to affect his voice. Just involuntary tears rolling down unwashed cheeks. It was all Eddie could do not to reach for him. “Don’t think about me. I’m not important-”

“Richie-”

“No!” He pointed a warning finger in his face. “Eddie! I spent the last three hours coming up with this so just let me say it!”

He inhaled, eyes pleading. Eddie nodded.

“Don’t get married,” Richie said. “Don’t marry Myra. Please. You don't love her. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you loved her. I’m not Julia Roberts. I’d keep my fucking mouth shut if you loved her, but you don’t, Eddie. You’re just used to the dynamic. You’re used to someone telling you what to be, but you don’t fucking need it. You don’t need to latch on to her. You don’t need her. You don’t need me. You’ve got me but-” he huffed, closing his eyes. “That’s not important right now. I’m gonna go now.”

“Richie-” He was frozen. He felt like he was having an asthma attack but reaching for his inhaler would require movement or looking at anything but Richie.

“Please don’t marry her. Please, Eddie. It’s gonna be so much harder if you marry her.” He closed his eyes, squeezing so tight that his face screwed up and tears leaked out of the corners. “I gotta go.”

Then he was gone, closing the door silently behind him.

* * *

Richie didn’t make it far. He stumbled down the hallway, wiping his eyes fruitlessly with his sleeve. _Stupid. So fucking stupid._

He could hear the murmur of the congregation, wondering what was taking so long. In his mind, they were all talking about him.

_Stupid, pathetic fag, begging his best friend not to get married._

_Couldn’t even muster up the self-esteem to beg the groom to be with him. Just needed to wreck a wedding._

Richie stopped, just short of the narthex. His friends would be out there, waiting for their part in this baby blue funeral. He couldn’t stand to see them, the twin looks of pity and surprise on their faces. He couldn’t stand to see her. Myra in her big white dress with the long lace train that she’d had flown in specifically from Paris. Myra in victory, ready to claim the man he loved as part of her cookie cutter life.

He might vomit again if there was anything left inside him.

Richie had never been so happy to see a side exit in his entire life. In some heavenly oversight, the door was unlocked. He pushed out into the high summer sun, blinking at the terrible light. God, he must look awful. If he looked half as bad as he felt, he ought to find a paper bag for his head post haste.

Not that anyone could see him. The side door opened out onto the parking lot. The only humans in sight were two attendants on the far end. They looked happy, two tiny people, happy in each other’s company. Probably smoking something.

Richie would have given his right arm for a cigarette. He’d have given up his stupid breaking heart just to have it out of his body but right now he’d settle for a cigarette. He patted himself down, fruitlessly trying to find a spare. They were back at the hotel with the rest of his stuff. He’d smoked on that morning, trying to calm his nerves before he confronted Eddie. Then he’d needed a shower and a cry because he didn’t want to face Eddie smelling like cigarettes.

 _Could’ve smoked the whole pack, you stupid asshole._ He staggered forward, not sure where he was going. Maybe he thought he’d ask the carhops what he could bum, empty the meager contents of his wallet for anything they had and a lighter.

That would have involved talking, and Richie Trashmouth Tozier was officially out of words.

Instead, he turned, letting his feet guide him to a little garden just off the main path. It had a bench at least, surrounded by rose bushes. The few flowers left held on by a whisper. Petals fell to the ground as Richie brushed passed. He sat down hard on the stone bench and put his head in his hands.

 _“This is what comes of telling the truth,”_ Julia Roberts said in his mind. _“Getting what you deserve isn’t fair!”_

 _Your timing’s off. This is the end of the movie._ He didn’t even question her appearance. He’d lost his mind the moment Eddie got engaged. About time the auditory hallucinations showed up.

 _“You’re one to talk about timing, Richie.”_ Her voice changed, sounding more like Sandy, probably because Julia never said that in the movie. _“This is the end. We did what we came to do. We said goodbye.”_

 _I didn’t say goodbye._ Richie thought, bitter at the voices in his head.

 _“You should’ve.”_ Dermot Mulroney chimed in. _“You’re the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”_

“Fuck you,” Richie muttered, not caring how crazy he looked. “Your name sounds like a leftover scrabble rack.”

 _“Who’s chasing you?_ ” Rupert Everett asked. That one hurt. _“Nobody. Get it? There’s your answer.”_

“Fuck you too.” Richie sobbed. “You don’t even have a character outside of Julia.”

He hadn’t said goodbye. He wouldn’t, not to Eddie, not ever to Eddie. They’d get married. Fine. People got married. People got divorced too. Bev had, and Ben was there. Richie could be there too. He’d swallowed his feelings for twenty years, he could keep his mouth shut through Eddie’s sham of a marriage.

 _“Oh the misery,_ ” Rupert Everett sighed. _“The exquisite tragedy. The Susan Hayworth of it all.”_

Richie was saved the indignity of responding to the “Summer-date-film supreme” of 1997’s cruel barbs by the creaking of the side door. Eddie Kaspbrak, in all his wedding day glory, stepped out of the church with shaking shoulders. He looked up at the sky, swore, and went back in.

He emerged again with another oath and walked purposefully across the well-manicured grass. Richie watched him step into the parking lot, watched him keep walking passed the smoking valets, and saw him disappear into the sidewalk.

“Holy shit.” Richie glanced back at the church. There were no screams, no hubbub, none of the usual mayhem that made movie-going audiences lose their shit. He was tempted to sneak back in and see if Eddie’d actually told anyone he was leaving or if he just booked it like the protagonist of a slightly different Julia Roberts movie. Instead, he jumped up and booked it across the parking lot. None of the stars of _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ had shit to say.

Richie’s lungs were burning by the time he reached the sidewalk. He didn’t stop. He could just see Eddie’s suit jacket as it disappeared across the street.

“Eds!” The shout came out desperate and without permission. He darted across the street, dodging various cars and vans.

Eddie didn’t stop. He kept going, like the world’s most intense mall walker, until Richie caught up with him at the next crosswalk. “Eddie!”

He turned, bewildered, staring at him. “I thought you left.”

“I didn’t get far,” Richie swallowed, “Christ, you’re fast.”

Eddie just stared at him. He looked so goddamn small, so incredibly out of it that Richie was tempted to take his temperature. “You okay?”

Eddie nodded. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just- I needed some air. I wanted to-” He looked up at Richie, tears in his eyes. “I don’t know I’m doing, Rich.”

Richie blinked, trying not to cry again and failing. His hand shook at his side. “What- what do you wanna do, Ed?”

Eddie took his hand. The shaking stopped. “I want to get out of here.”

Richie nodded. “I’ll call a car.”

Eddie’s beautiful brow furrowed. “I want to get out of the city.”

Richie nodded. He’d already fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call a car.”

His phone fell as Eddie grabbed his other arm and pulled him close. He couldn’t hear it land because Eddie had his hand on his ear, his lips on his mouth, his body pressed to Richie’s. Richie shook again. His whole body quaked with relief as he wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders.

They stood like that for a long time, just holding each other and crying. Then Eddie flinched. “Shit.”

“What?” Richie asked, suddenly terrified that he’d changed his mind, again.

“I left my phone at the church.” Eddie said.

Richie snorted. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” Eddie said. He hadn’t let go. He didn’t even loosen his grip. Richie didn’t either. As far as he was concerned, they could have stayed right there forever. Eddie rested his head on his shoulder. “Richie?”

“Yeah?” They could have been dancing.

“What does Julia Roberts have to do with us?”

Richie smiled. He lifted Eddie’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed him. “Not a goddamn thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue: Bill grabbed Eddie's phone for him. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this romcom nonsense. Please comment.


End file.
